In The Skin of The Universe
by the ticking clock
Summary: The Doctor tries to save the universe; The Master knows that it is better to just let it burn. A quick study of the Doctor and The Master, across many regenerations. Oneshot. Spoilers.


**This fic is an unedited, raw, at times oddly poetic, jumbled mess. **

**But I had to write it. **

The Doctor runs.

Of course, he wasn't the Doctor then, he was a terrified child. He'd stared into all of space and time and he'd run away.

The Master is curious.

He stares into the time vortex for far to long. He stares and stares until the rhythm of the universe sinks into his bones. Pounds through his veins. Sings like the beat of a thousand drums in his mind.

They grow up different. They are no longer the same.

* * *

><p>They used to run together.<p>

Across long, sloping hills, racing under silver leafed trees and blood orange sky. They'd fall down in the grass together, hearts pounding against ribs, chest aching with sweet laughter, cheeks flushed with excitement. They'd stare up at the drifting clouds and whisper secrets of the universe. They were wild and free and reckless. They were best friends.

They go their separate ways. The Doctor steals a type 40 TARDIS and runs far, far away. The Master withers and screams and loses his mind.

But they cross paths frequently. Their meetings are always pain and torment, mind games and plots. When they hit and scream and fight, there is always an undercurrent of longing for the way things used to be. They were mirrors of each other, the man who couldn't be controlled and the man who couldn't control his own mind. Forever struggling to best the other. Best friends turned enemies, but they were reluctant enemies, truly. They did not hate each other.

The Doctor holds The Master in his arms as he dies.

When he looks at him, he doesn't not see the tyrant he wanted to stop. He is not filled with rage. The Master's eyes are clear and sane and terrified. Satisfied. Gleeful.

The Doctor screams at him, screams to please regenerate, please, they're the only ones left, please. But he knows it is useless. He's the Doctor who can never fix anything, no matter how hard he tries.

When he watches the other Timelord's eyes flicker closed, feels his last breath shudder from his still-warm body, he doesn't see his enemy.

He sees his best friend.

* * *

><p>"I wonder what I'd be, without you."<p>

He says the words genuinely, with an ache in his hearts and a hollowness in his throat. It's raw and honest and open, and the Master stares at him, eyes glassy with tears and anguish, and they understand each other. Of course they understand each other. They've always known. They are the same. They always have been.

* * *

><p>"How did you survive?"<p>

He asks her softly, leaning in so she can hear his voice before she sees his face. The kind of intimate closeness they'd experienced when they were children, whispering the secrets of the universe under the shade of leaves tinged with silver.

She opens her eyes. They are blue now, sharp and cold, but still with warm with the familiar madness. A small smile. "You saved me," she says.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "I saved Gallifrey."

That eye roll is so familiar he almost smiles. The beauty of childhood friendship is that no matter what they look like-if he is old and scottish, if she is a women, it doesn't matter. They are still the same broken, damaged souls underneath whatever skin they wear. Humans aren't capable of seeing that. His human companions are often terrified after a regeneration. They look too closely at face value. They let their eyes trick them into seeing and knowing the mask that he wears.

But the Master (Missy, whatever she is calling herself these days) can see him. She has always been able to recognize him, no matter what body he's wearing, how old he looks, or how young. She'd known him before they'd ever chosen their names. Before he ran away, so many years ago.

They dance their familiar dance-threats and mind games and shouting. It is all very routine and expected and terrifying, and strangely _fun. _He won't ever admit it, but he's _missed _her. Him. Her. It doesn't matter. He's missed his friend. His enemy. His arch nemesis. His best friend.

He's missed the Timelord who has made him both despise and love the universe.

The Doctor runs and the Master watches. The Master stared into the Time Vortex until the rhythm of the universe beat inside him. He watched Earth from a distance as the Time Lord's were supposed to do. He watched his childhood friend run and try to help and he laughed at the chaos the Doctor left in his wake.

Missy is tired of the game. Tired of the pretending that they are so different. She wants to grab the Doctor and shake him, slap some sense into that wonderfully thick head. They are not so different. But The Doctor is all tied up in his ideas of good and evil and winning and losing, and protecting his sweet human pets.

So she gives him a present.

He is all awkward fury and indignation, and she laughs as he flails his arms and shouts. Her Doctor. Always trying to fix the universe.

He can't see that it is irrevocably broken.

There are cracks in the skin of the universe that she can see, gaping holes in the fabric of reality. She watches them stretch and tear themselves apart while the Doctor tries to save the world. He tries to patch all the tears-layer them with band aids and the whirs of a sonic screw driver and a corny joke. He drags humans into his futile game and cries when they die. She doesn't understand who he can expect anything else. Everything ends and becomes something else. Life is a cycle and death is a door.

The Doctor tries to save the universe.

The Master knows that it is better to let it burn.


End file.
